Long before this time the closes and stairs near the spot were blocked up by those who had resolved upon securing a good view, by remaining all night on the ground. The inclemency of the weather drove them to any shelter that could be obtained, and morning found them in the comfortless lairs they had chosen overnight.
A constant bustle was also kept up by the arrival of those individuals, who either from favour or for money, had procured the conveniency of a window in the vicinity. Many gave considerable sums for this accommodation, and such was their desire to avail themselves of their good fortune in securing them, that they spent the night in the apartment.
The streets were nearly perfectly quiet throughout the morning after the erection of the gibbet; the heavy and almost incessant rain must have contributed greatly to prevent any very early assemblage. As the morning advanced, however, groups were seen hastening to their windows, or taking their station in as favourable a place as they could fix upon for properly witnessing the approaching event.
About five o’clock the people began again to assemble and take their station, principally in front of the gallows, and above it towards the Castle Hill, while large parties of policemen and patrole successively arrived, and were judiciously posted in a strong line in front of the railing which kept off the crowd. The space left free was larger than is usually reserved upon such occasions. The Police acted under the conduct of Captain Stewart and his Lieutenants. Their services were not in a solitary instance required except it might be to prevent the great pressure of the vast multitude from bursting the barrier; indeed the mob were in perfect good humour, and instead of their usual animosity against the police officers being displayed, in futile attempts to annoy or retard them in the execution of their duties, one and all of the immense assemblage would willingly have done any thing in their power to aid the officers and further the arrangements.
From six to seven o’clock a great concourse thronged every avenue to the High Street, and the numbers pouring, almost rushing into it from every quarter, gave the immediate vicinity a very busy and animated appearance. Among the arrivals, there were many whose appearance betokened that they did not belong to the usual class who attend such scenes. In this number were included many well dressed ladies, who by and bye made their appearance at the windows of the lofty and sombre looking lands in the Lawnmarket, as well as those of the county buildings, and gave an unexpected variety to the picturesque scene. We understand that windows commanding a view of the place of execution were eagerly inquired after, and engaged at prices varying according to their locality, from five to thirty shillings each, while some who had engaged a window retailed a view at the rate of half a crown a head. The great numbers who were constantly arriving up before seven o’clock seemed principally to disperse themselves in this manner, as no very sensible addition was made to the mass up to this hour.
About six o’clock the weather had become less inclement, and though it was a cold raw disagreeable morning, the showers were only partial and less violent than they had been during the night. After seven o’clock, when the rain almost entirely ceased, the crowd became rapidly larger and more dense, and about eight o’clock the area contained between the West Bow and the Tron Church, presented an aspect of such an immense and closely wedged mass of human beings—such a living and moving sea of uncountable multitudes as could very seldom be witnessed, and we should suppose has never been known on a similar occasion, or perhaps on any other in the city, excepting perhaps at the king’s visit. All along the street the people were packed more closely than could have been conceived, and as far as the eye could reach, every vantage ground that could command a view was thickly studded. In the immediate neighbourhood of the scaffold, looking downwards, the crowd presented a dark appearance from the great proportion of males who composed it, but few females, much under the number that usually attends on similar scenes were present. Farther out, however, where the pressure was not so great, the usual proportions of the sexes seemed to be more nearly maintained. Some few females were sprinkled even in the most dense parts of the crowd, and their screams and unavailing efforts to extricate themselves, sometimes gave a painful interest to their appearance. We noticed one boy who was with great difficulty preserved from being trampled under foot. Another unlucky youth had by some chance got elevated above the heads of the crowd, and cut a grotesque figure as sprawling on the top of the mass, he was tossed by its movements from side to side; at last he was cast up against the houses and secured a more stable station on a lamp iron. At the movement of any part of the mob, a correspondent and simultaneous motion seemed to be imparted to it in nearly all its parts, and some action continually happening, imparted an appearance of a vast substance continually waving to and fro.
The numbers collected at this time have been computed at from twenty to thirty thousand individuals; we were disposed at first to consider this calculation excessive, but, upon consideration, we are inclined to believe that the amount has been under rather than overrated. Any idea of counting is quite out of the question, and guessing by the appearance in such a case, is nearly equally fallacious. The only way that tolerable accuracy can be obtained, is by calculating the superficial extent of the space occupied by the crowd.
We believe that we are not far wrong in assuming, that the High Street, from the West Bow to the Tron Church, is about three hundred yards in length, and averages about thirty yards in breadth. This would give for the superficial contents of the area, nine thousand square yards. The people did not quite extend to the Tron Church, but they were higher than the West Bow, and some standing on the Castle Hill; and taking the number in Bank Street, and those pushed out of the line in front of the Advocates’ Library, and into closes and stairs, and throwing off one thousand square yards, as an ample compensation for the deficiency about the church, there is still left eight thousand square yards. The mean density cannot be taken at less than four individuals to the square yard,—indeed, from the close packing for a considerable way round the scaffold, we are convinced that this is rather under than over the mark. This computation will give thirty-two thousand persons standing on the streets. We imagine that it is reckoning within the number when we calculate five thousand additional for the crammed windows, and those adventurous individuals who occupied the house tops. In all, we arrive at the enormous number of thirty-seven thousand persons. We do not give this calculation as strictly correct. It cannot under these circumstances be so, but we believe that it is nearer the truth than any guess, and that the whole number approximated more nearly to forty thousand souls than to thirty-five thousand.
This immense multitude presented certainly nothing of the appearance of having come for the purpose of witnessing a sad solemnity, and differed very widely in demeanour from that which is usually exhibited by the spectators of an execution. In ordinary cases, a great degree of sympathy for the sufferer is usually manifested, and even in the worst a respectful and solemn deportment is observed, as if it was recognised that they were met upon a melancholy occasion. In this it was totally different. Every countenance bore an expression of gladness that revenge was so near, and the whole multitude appeared more as if they were waiting to witness some splendid procession or agreeable exhibition. Rude jokes and puns were bandied about, and any opportunity for fun and frolic to while away the time was immediately seized upon. Even the disagreeable and almost suffocating pressure was borne with equanimity, and the glances that were cast at St. Giles’ clock rather betokened an impatient desire to glut their vengeance by the spectacle of the arch-fiend’s death-struggles, than an anxiety to be released from their uncomfortable situation.
Eight o’clock at last struck solemnly, and commanded universal attention; all eyes were directed towards the scaffold. It now remains for us to describe what took place there, and